So yeah, it's been a while (and
goddammit, whenever I say that phrase I wind up with that silly-ass
Staind song stuck in my head), but what can I tell you except the
29-year-old me would have kept on bloggin' about the most useless of
shit while the 39-year-old me doesn't assume that anyone gives a
rat's ass about what I have to say because it's okay that no one
gives a rat's ass about what I have to say.
Admittedly, operating under that
assumption (that is, I don't have to zip open my innards and pour
everything onto the page under the guise of “entertainment” or “a
writing exercise”) has resulted in my creativity going straight
into the dumper. Every now and again, it scratches at me, that kind
of annoyance that comes when you're getting a tattoo and it feels
like someone constantly scratching at your skin for an hour, complete
with ooky bleeding and seeping. At the present time, I'm “enjoying”
a grand ole time at the Stress Circus thanks to having one parent who
decided having a stroke the day before my boyfriend was due to arrive
from overseas for a visit was a great idea and the other parent
deciding to throw all coping skills to the wind. (Note: said stroke
was minor and the strokee is going great guns and doing quite well,
etc. etc. Copercabana...well...uh-huh.) For me, stress manifests
mostly physically – my carcass decides to basically cave in on
itself and provides me with aches, pains, stomach troubles, and
repellent events of a bathroomy nature. I handle my stress by giving
into it for a couple days and then something in my brain clicks and
allows me to ignore it, but not ignore the guilt that comes with not
going to work for two days, not wanting to talk to anyone, and
devoting whatever energy I can summon up to get out of bed/go to
work/perform my duties/come home/perform my duties/retreat to cave.
There isn't much room for anything else.
Ergo, despite the fleeting ideas (I
loathe the fucking phrase “plot bunnies”) caroming around my
head, the thought of sitting down and giving said ideas any sort of
existence is horrifying to me. Which then leads me down the Depresso
Path of “well, it's not like you'd actually be able to sell
it/publish it/put it on a pamphlet and pass it to people outside of
street festivals”, naturally. Then the Depresso Path sort of folds
in on itself in an “Inception”-style fashion and Marion Cotillard
is sad and mysterious and Leonardo DiCaprio's face just gets wider
and his eyeballs get narrower. Kind of like Gollum, actually.
Holy shit, speaking of Gollum, I
decided to read The Hobbit for the first time since I was a
kid (I think I read it when I was a kid, though maybe I just
saw a cartoon of it...maybe?) and I was not prepared for it to, well,
kind of suck. I shouldn't say it sucked, because it certainly moved
along and was well-written and whatnot, but oof, at the end of the
day it was not my bag. After reading the ever-so-serious Lord of
the Rings trilogy, digesting the utter romp that is The Hobbit
is a bit rough. Thinking about how in the red-hot hell they're going
to make a movie out of The Hobbit that doesn't make me seek
out something to punch troubles me, reader, lo how it troubles me.
Not to say I won't see it, I will see the SHIT out of it. But I'm
steeling myself now for something that could possibly be a steaming
pile. Trust me, I'm not one of those folks who gets super-tight when
a film of a book I enjoyed gets loosey-goosey with the source
material (though Bennie winding up with Jack in the film version of
“Circle of Friends” was a bullshit cop-out and casting 98 percent
of “The House of the Spirits” with white people was an absolute
LOAD plus two hours is not enough to tell such an epic story and
let's not get me rolling on “Memoirs of a Geisha”), but it just
seems so...money-grubby to throw in appearances by Elijah Wood and
Orlando Bloom to entice Ringers into seeing The Hobbit. There has to
be Hobbiters, right? And I would assume Ringers and Hobbiters all
kind of dine at the same restaurant. Unless there's some sort of
vocal Ringers vs. Hobbiters gang war that I'm not hip to. I wouldn't
be surprised if there was, since the internet has long taught me that
if there's a goodly reason to fight, by gum, we shall fight. Whether
it be over politics, religion, the “Star Wars” Blu-Rays or if
Orlando Bloom looks better with short hair or when his lustrous mane
is in full curly magnificence.
Don't judge me, you a-holes. I'm IN A
STATE RIGHT NOW.
